Intervals of Sanity
by 2p-spamano-buttsex
Summary: "I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity." A story of an obsessive friendship between two broken souls that soon turns deadly once their bond is threatened. (2p spamano)
1. Kindergarten

**I realized that there is no dramatic ass 2p spamano story and that is a travesty honestly**

* * *

Santiago, at six years old, was not exactly the picture perfect image of a kindergartner. He looked much older, and more unpleasant than the usual child. His hair was pitch black, with a sudden streak of white on his bangs. A birth defect, not anything he could help yet was constantly blamed for. Instead of a bright smile, he only knew frowns and sneers, adopting them from his parents. No, he was not a normal boy.

Yet his mother insisted he go to school. Santiago suspected she just wanted to get rid of him for a few hours, but he didn't mind. It was a better alternative to shoving him into the closet.

She drove him to the school, but didn't walk in with him, which left Santiago to wobble around the hallways, unsure where to go, until a teacher led him to the classroom. There, he suddenly wished his mom had chosen the closet.

There were kids his age, and yet they didn't seem to be like Santiago at all. They were smiling and laughing and looked normal with hair that was one consistent color and clothes that were clean and pressed. The Spanish boy felt like an outsider, and this sensation increased when a few children decided to stare. He always got these looks from people of all ages, a silent, distant question of "what's wrong with him?" He wasn't sure how to answer it.

"Alright, let's all get into the circle!" sang a pretty, blonde lady, who ushered each of the rowdy kids to sit neatly on the multicolored, circular mat in the middle of the room. Santiago, elated by the distraction, sat down a bit away from everyone else. The teacher didn't notice.

"Since it's everyone's first day, let's go around the circle, and say our names and one thing we like! I'll go first, okay? I'm Miss Amy, and I like cooking! And now you..." She turned to the boy sitting next to her, and that's when Santiago zoned out.

He didn't like this. There were too many people, and all of them probably hated him. It wouldn't be surprising. His father stated he took one look at him when he was born and was disgusted. So imagine having to look at him for years?

He was alerted back into present time when the kid next to him poked his arm, signaling that his was his turn. Santiago looked to the multicolored mat, unable to meet any of the expectant stares. "My...name's Santiago...and I...like t'sleep," he mumbled, the words processing slowly. He wasn't good with English, it wasn't his first language. His mother had taught him hastily a year before he was to go to school, but his words were still confused and layered with a heavy accent. A few people around him giggled. He really wanted to go home.

Once everyone was finished, the bright teacher beamed at her students. "Now since school is really scary, you're all gonna get buddies so you have a friend you can count on! You'll walk together when we go anywhere else in the school, holding hands so no one gets lost."

It was like Santiago's worst fear. Some poor kid getting stuck with his useless self. Couldn't he just be alone? He worked best by himself.

Alas, Miss Amy walked around, guiding each child to their buddy, instructing them to play games to get used to the other. She did this until two students remained, one of them being Santiago.

She smiled, gently taking his hand and leading him to the last person, a boy with chestnut colored hair that was neat, aside from a lone stray hair that stuck out. His eyes were brown, but they almost looked red, and his clothes were immaculate. "Santiago, you'll be Flavio's buddy. Okay?"

He gave a jerk nod, refusing to look at either of them. Miss Amy let go of his hand, and Flavio's immediately replaced it, tugging him toward the drawing table.

"Do you like to draw?" asked Flavio, and Santiago was startled to hear his voice was funny too. The only difference was he clearly grasped English easily.

"What?"

"Do you like to draw?" repeated the boy, but he didn't wait for his buddy's response before rattling off. "I love drawing! Mama and papa say I'm gonna grow up to be an artist! What do you wanna be when you grow up? Why's your hair like that? It looks funny. I like it." Before Santiago could stop him, the other boy touched his hair lightly, as if it was something delicate.

Santiago took this chance to force himself to talk. "Looks...like skunk..." he managed, trying to say something else before giving up. Words were too hard.

Flavio giggled. "Skunk. You're funny. I like you. Are we friends?"

Now this wasn't what the Spaniard had been expecting. He didn't think anyone could like him, his father had burned it into his brain that he was unlikable. Yet now he had an offer from this smiley, talkative person. "...Yes...buddies."

"Buddies!" Flavio agreed, scribbling on his paper with each crayon carefully. Santiago began to draw as well, mainly because he wasn't sure what else he would do.

Soon, the day was coming to a close, and the two little boys continued to draw ferociously. As the parents came to pick up their children, Flavio tapped his buddy's shoulder confidently, giving him the piece of paper. "I have to go now. Bye bye, Santi!" He gave the Spaniard a crushing hug, before skipping out the door with a woman who was probably his mother.

Santiago looked at the drawing, which appeared to be of him and his buddy, with big smiles and hearts. It brought a slow, tiny smile to his face, which immediately disappeared as his mother nudged his arm, signaling they had to leave.

As he followed her to their shoddy car, he hugged the piece of paper to his chest, making sure it wouldn't drop. He wanted to keep it somewhere safe.

* * *

The weeks went on and Santiago found himself attached to Flavio and only Flavio. The other kids scared him still, but at least he had one friend he could spend time with.

Flavio did most of the talking, babbling on about whatever came to mind. Santiago discovered that his new friend was Italian, and was born in Italy, but moved to America. He spoke both Italian and English. His papa was a musician and his mama was pregnant. His Nonno also lived with them, and he was always busy with work. He didn't have any other friends because people usually didn't like him for so long.

Santiago liked him though. They would just sit and color and he could listen to Flavio talk and just relax a bit. He couldn't draw as well as the Italian, but he usually just scribbled a lot.

"Lookit, Santi, I drew mama and papa and Nonno and the baby!" Flavio chirped, showing off his creation. "I don't know if it's gonna be a girl or a boy...do you have brothers and sisters? What do your parents do?"

Santiago thought about this for a second. "No brothers or sisters..." Technically a lie. He had a half brother, but he lived in Portugal with his other family. Santiago didn't know him well enough. "Mama dances. Papa builds stuff." Mama also went out at nights and didn't come back until really late. Papa drank when he was home and complained and yelled at Santiago to stop being such a "fucking eyesore" (he didn't know what fucking meant, but papa used it a lot, so it must have been bad). Sometimes papa and mama would get tired of him and lock him in the closet. If that didn't work, in came the belt from his papa.

But these didn't seem like things to tell Flavio, because that probably wasn't normal.

"Neat! Sounds like fun!"

Before Flavio could ask his buddy more questions, two girls walked up to them, giggling. "Hi, Flavio!" said the one, waving shyly. "We wanted to ask you something!"

They had ignored Santiago completely. That was okay. It wasn't anything new. "What is it?" Flavio inquired, kicking his legs back and forth.

"Who do you think is the cutest in the class?" Another round of giggles from this. What was so funny about it?

Flavio thought for a moment, before brightening and pointing at Santiago. "Santi! Santi's the cutest!"

A wave of puzzlement washed through all three of the listeners. The girls looked at each other, before one of them huffed. "You can't pick Santiago. He's a boy!"

"But he's the cutest," stated Flavio, poking his friend's reddening cheek, giggling.

The girls shrugged, running off to ask the next boy. Santiago glared at his buddy. "Why'd you lie?"

"I don't lie! You're cutest!" Flavio latched onto him, beaming.

"I am not!"

"Yes! Other people might not think so, but I'll always think you're cute!"

Santiago pouted. "Not when I'm old..."

"Nuh uh. I'll think you're cute forever. And we'll be together forever, so you'll always be cute!"

This was a bit alarming. He didn't think anyone would want to be around him for that long. But he certainly wouldn't object. "You promise...? We'll be together forever?"

The Italian tilted his head to the side, grinning. "Of course! Forever and ever!"

Maybe school was bearable after all.

* * *

 **It'll get better later. Probably.**

 **This is actually going to turn into something a bit less innocent than the average best-friends-turned-boyfriend story I'm sure everyone loves. This will be worse.**


	2. Senior Year

**I'm writing this nonstop because this is so fun. Honestly, if anyone's reading this, that's cool. But this is mainly writing practice. Reviews are sweet though.**

* * *

The first day of school was always the worst.

To be fair, every day of school was bad, but this was the day Santiago had to be around new people that would look at him funny and whisper about his appearance. He understood how bad he looked, why couldn't the others?

The one good thing was he got to leave his house, which was virtually dead in the early mornings. His mom slept in her bed, while his father was on the couch, too hungover to properly yell at the noise Santiago made as he ate cereal. He would just grumble and groan until his son went out the door.

Usually out waiting for him was a gleaming, expensive car that caused a fair amount of commotion among the younger kids after school. Not many people in the neighborhood even had a car to begin with, so seeing one like this was like a marvel.

Santiago went to the passenger seat, greeting his friend with a noncommittal huff. It wasn't as if the first day of school was a big reunion for them. They spent practically every day together.

"Morning, Santi!" Flavio chirped, driving away from the poor excuse for a house, beaming at his companion. "Excited for today? We're finally seniors! Our last year in this dump of a town..."

Since neither of the boys wanted to risk not being accepted into the same college, they decided that after school ended they'd just live off Flavio's inheritance, which was more than enough to survive. They wouldn't have to worry about being apart.

"Seems too far away. I want to stop going now..." Santiago mumbled, resting his head on the Italian's shoulder, sighing. "Everyone is awful and you're only in three classes with me..."

"Plus lunch. It could be worse." They had compared schedules last week, and Flavio cried at the lack of classes they shared. Usually they had more classes together, because they applied for the same electives, but sometimes things didn't add up. It was better than their seventh grade year, where they only shared lunch together. Flavio was absolutely inconsolable then.

"Mm...I guess." He looked over at his friend, studying his features. Both had changed so much over the years, and yet not at all. Flavio, once a chestnut haired, chubby little boy, now had platinum blond and was so small and skinny Santiago was sometimes scared he'd break. His clothes were still trendy, and his attitude was as bright as ever, so maybe it was only his appearance.

Santiago himself hadn't changed that much. His hair was still an oddity, refusing to dye it normally out of stubbornness. His face was now adorned with many jagged, ugly scars, including one that ran through his lips. He had grown tall, a lot more than his friend, and playing sports with the neighborhood kids when he wasn't with Flavio had made him fit. Him and his friend were so different anatomically, it was almost comical. At least no one bothered to mess with the Italian, in fear that they'll get hurt by his 'bodyguard'.

Despite these differences, one thing never changed. They loved each other, in a completely platonic way. Well, platonic for the most part. But they managed to stick together through all their school years. They had lots of good times.

The bad times too. Like when Flavio's parents were killed and his Nonno became both him and his little brother's guardian. When Flavio stopped eating until he was forced to. When Flavio would scream and scream as he was held down and given medicine through a syringe. When Santiago's arm was broken by his father. When Santiago came to school with his first scar, soon to be many as the years went on. When Santiago had to go to the hospital because his head was slammed against the wall and he wouldn't wake up.

These memories weren't good. But each had something in common. Though they were rotten, both boys had each other. That was the one comfort they always knew to count on.

The arrival to school made Santiago queasy. He wouldn't see Flavio until third period, which they both had lab chemistry. That meant he had to go through English and Calculus with a bunch of people he felt nothing for. Joy.

Once they left the car, Flavio immediately latched onto his friend's arm, sighing a bit. "It's gonna be sooo boring in History without you. I have Mr. Coroza too, and I heard he's a complete jerk."

"You should be used to jerks, considering you've been friends with one for over ten years."

Flavio giggled. "You're not that bad." They went inside the building, both undaunted by the amount of people rushing around them. The world seemed to revolve around the two only. "You're literally so nice, but you pretend you're not."

"Sure..." The two approached their locker, which used to be just Santiago's locker, but they decided to share it considering Flavio's was too far away. They put their new notebooks and backpacks in, making sure to take their time. After this they would have to go opposite directions.

Flavio sighed sadly, pouting a bit. "Well, until Chemistry, Santi. Bye bye." He got onto his tiptoes, delicately kissing the scar on his lips, the usual farewell for them. This gesture always caused confusion with their peers, who were wary of the two's close relationship. It looked romantic, but if you asked either, both would insist they were just friends. Because they were.

"Bye..." Santiago mumbled, before going on his way to English, immediately taking a seat in the back once he was in the classroom. He had to drag through these classes, and then he'd get to Flavio. He missed the other already, especially when he got the annual stares and whispers from his classmates.

Santiago just wanted to be with his best friend always.

* * *

Flavio stared out the window during History, his mind racing. He never reflected on his life, that's what his therapist had told him. He just impulsively did things and tried to forget them. Well, here he was, reflecting.

He thought of Santiago, but that was nothing new. Flavio was always thinking about his friend. When they were apart, it felt like a drug relapse, he felt absolutely sick to his stomach. Even when they were together, he wanted to be closer. He wanted to press against his best friend until he was nothing. Until he was a part of him. Until they were one.

Unhealthy. That's what his therapist called their relationship. It wasn't healthy to spend all your time around one person. It wasn't healthy to think about them constantly. It wasn't healthy to want to hurt them so they couldn't leave Flavio, unlike his parents.

But the Italian did not care about what was healthy, because abandoning Santiago was something that was unthinkable. He would kill to be with him. That wasn't an exaggeration either.

Flavio had always been a bit violent. But he was better at hiding it than his brother, who was fascinated with knives. Flavio didn't care about tools, he just wanted to hurt things. Anything that was a threat to him. Talking it out was not his forte, he wanted to see blood when he was angry.

In first grade, a boy named Robbie Dylan said Santiago was an idiot for being confused by addition. Flavio stabbed him with the plastic forks they got at lunch until he cried. Robbie Dylan moved away after that.

 _"You're the idiot, not Santi!"_

In fifth grade, a girl by the name of Yvette Paski had a crush on Santiago, and told Flavio about it. In response, Flavio punched her in the face until she changed her mind. She claimed she had fallen on the slide, as her nose was dislocated and her eye blackened. Yvette Paski went on to date another boy instead.

 _"Santi would never like you! Take it back!"_

In eighth grade, two girls, Melissa Barker and Ann Gonzales, pranked Santiago by pouring sour milk all over him during lunch, claiming he should be used to the smell, as his clothes were the same odor. Everyone laughed. Flavio led the two girls to the woods by their school, and strangled Melissa until the sobbing Ann agreed to apologize to Santiago. Melissa Barker and Ann Gonzales flinch every time Flavio goes near them.

 _"Apologize or I'll kill her!"_

There had been other minor incidents, but those had been the most thrilling to Flavio. He didn't care if people teased him, but Santiago was a good person. He didn't deserve anything he got. Robbie made him think he was stupid. Melissa and Ann laughed about his clothes, which he usually got from thrift stores. Yvette...well, she was bound to hurt his friend if they ever started dating.

His methods were not at all healthy, but they were effective. No one messed with Santiago, and no one took him away from Flavio. They could be best friends, forever and ever.

He smiled, not even noticing the teacher repeating his name over and over.

 _"What if Santiago moved away? What if he had to leave you, Flavio?"_

 _"He'll never leave me. We're bonded."_

 _"That isn't healthy."_

Unhealthy was simply how things should be.

* * *

It was the summer before middle school, and the two boys were playing video games in Flavio's room, bored out of their minds. Nonno and Luciano had gone out for dinner, and didn't bother to invite them. So now they were stuck playing the same game over and over.

"It's no fun when we die on the same level..." grumbled Santiago, sitting at the edge of the bed. Flavio's room was amazing to him, as it was big and spacey and had a nice bed and lots of toys and even a TV. His own room was pathetic, with a bed that hurt to sleep in and decorations he made himself. The nicest things he owned were all presents from Flavio.

"Let's do something else then," suggested the Italian, tossing his controller.

"Like what?"

Flavio pondered for a moment, before beaming. "Let's become blood brothers!"

"What? What is that?"

"It's when we cut our hands and mix our blood, so we'll be connected forever! Want to do it?"

As an adolescent, the stupidest ideas seemed to sound the most logical. Besides, Santiago was bored. "Okay. Let's do it."

Flavio giggled, reaching under his bed to grab a jagged, sharp piece of glass. Santiago should have been disturbed by how his friend automatically had a dangerous thing under his bed, but he only wanted to do the ritual.

Flavio went first, as he carefully sliced the palm of his hand, wincing a bit. When Santiago did it, he let out a little groan of pain. It hurt more than the Italian let on. Once both were cut, Flavio held his, pressing the wounds together.

"Okay...from now on, we're connected by blood. So nothing can tear us apart...we're bonded forever..."

Santiago was a bit startled how serious Flavio was. But being together sounded nice enough, so he wouldn't complain. "Even after we die," he agreed, which caused his friend's eyes to light up.

"You mean it? If I die first, you'll die with me, right?" he asked, seemingly excited. An odd thing to be ecstatic about.

Thinking about it, that seemed reasonable to Santiago. He didn't want to be alone until he did waste away, so doing it with Flavio was strangely comforting. "Yeah. We'll really be together always."

Flavio grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek sweetly. "I love you, Santi."

"I love you too." It was weird that these words only seemed to apply to romantic relationships. You can love and kiss your best friend the same without it being romantic, right? That's how he felt for Flavio.

He was certain that feeling could never end. Even after they died.

* * *

 **This is kinda how I want to structure each chapter. Santiago's POV, Flavio's POV, and a flashback.**


	3. The Bad Thing

**Unhealthy relationships are the best to write tbh**

* * *

The day seemed to drag on for eons, until the final bell rang and Santiago was free to go. The day had been expectantly awful, the classes he had with Flavio being the only exceptions. If there was anything good about being a senior, it was that the teachers didn't care about assigned seats.

However, the day didn't get much better, as Flavio told him he had a therapy appointment and Santiago would have to go back home until it was over. Flavio's therapist requested that the Italian be without anyone but family each session. So that meant quality time with mom and dad.

Flavio gave him an extra long hug when he pulled up to his house, kissing his forehead. "Are you gonna be okay? You could always stay at my house..."

"No. It's fine. I'll see you at five, okay?" It was somewhat unnerving being by himself in his best friend's huge house. He was too used to cramped settings.

"Alright...bye bye..." Another kiss to his scar, and Santiago was forced to walk toward his pathetic house, refusing to look back. He would have felt worse if he did.

His mother was watching TV, looking over at him sluggishly. "Shouldn't you be in school...?"

"School is over. It's three."

"It is...?" She looked over at the clock, blinking slowly. "Oh..."

He stared at her for a few seconds. "Hey mom, remind me how old I am."

She seemed startled by the sudden question, staring at the TV box in thought. "...Fourteen? No...your birthday was a while ago. Fifteen."

Santiago sighed, shaking his head and sitting next to her. "I'm seventeen. I'm a senior now."

"Oh." She nodded, before turning back to her show, eyes unfocused.

Santiago was more than used to his mother being a bit disconnected with reality. It had been that way for years. Eventually his father's anger stopped being solely saved for him and she got some attention as well. Her coping method was to simply live in another world.

There were footsteps coming down the steps, and both mother and son flinched. Who would he be pissed at today? It was a rare occasion when he wasn't angry.

He stumbled to his chair, looking over at his family. "So you're home. How was school?"

"Fine," replied Santiago, eyes fixed to the trashy program that was on.

"What'd you learn?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing. That's right. Because nothing ever gets through your thick, empty head, does it?"

Santiago's lips pursed, and he didn't respond. It wasn't the worst thing he had been told, after all.

His father scoffed, getting up on his feet and standing in front of Santiago. "Ask me how it feels to have such a disappointing kid, who's ugly as all sin and spends every waking minute with his boyfriend."

The boy could feel his lip tremble at this, but held in the emotions. He couldn't show weakness. It would only be worse.

"Didn't you hear me? Ask me how it feels." When he didn't get a reply, the elder man grasped his son's hair, tugging hard enough to make the other tear up. "Ask me or I'll fucking rip all of it off. Though maybe that's an improvement. You won't be such a fucking freak."

"...How does it feel...?" whispered Santiago, eyes on the floor.

"Disgusting. Only time you were tolerable is when you were a kid. At least then you were decent looking enough to get us a few bucks."

Santiago's entire body went rigid at this. No. He didn't really want to remember that particular time. When his father was annoyed with their lack of wealth and used different methods to earn them cash. Not even Flavio knew about it. It was too humiliating.

"Bet you miss that, huh? Only time anyone ever thought you were worth something. Now you're back to being nothing. You don't work, don't help out, don't do shit." His father let go of his hair, sneering. "I'm glad it's your last year. I'll finally be rid of you..."

Santiago stared ahead, refusing to break down in front of this man. Once he left, grumbling that he was going to buy more beer, the boy covered his face and let out a dry sob. He felt sick to his stomach, like he was going to throw up.

His mother stirred next to him, and patted his back awkwardly. "There, there...you'll do better next time."

She hadn't even been aware of what happened.

He couldn't be angry at her. She wasn't doing this because she didn't care, she just had no idea.

Santiago envied her ability to block it out.

* * *

"Are you happy, Flavio?"

"Why would I be sad?" Flavio smiled, lounging comfortably on the chair. "I mean, school isn't all that bad. I have some classes with Santiago, so..."

"Right. And the ones you don't have with him, they're okay too? Maybe you can make some friends..."

Oh, Dr. Perry was so silly to think that she could break Flavio's adoration for his friend. She didn't impress him, with her frizzy firetruck red hair and magenta lipstick that bled through the corners. She would be pretty, with a nice hair treatment and reasonable makeup, along with a wardrobe that didn't consist of grays, navy blues, and browns. Flavio rolled his eyes, purposely wanting to be a brat. "Don't think so. Not this year. I like being friends with Santi."

"Santiago doesn't have to be your only friend, and you don't have to be his. You both can have other friends and still be close."

"No one wants to be friends with Santi. He looks weird and he wears the same outfit three days in a row. He's bad at social situations and scowls a lot. He needs me."

Dr. Perry sighed, crossing her legs. "From what I can tell, you don't exactly give him the chance to find friends. You told me you hurt a little girl for liking him?"

"Well, that's different. Dating isn't the same as being friends. Besides, I was bad back then. But now I'm good." He batted his eyelashes innocently, making his therapist's lip twitch. "I don't think anyone can handle him like I do, to be honest. He has a lot of troubles...too many to count. No one knows how to comfort him but me."

"Flavio, lots of people have bad experiences. But lots of people also have more than one friend."

"Good for those people. Santi isn't one of them."

Another sigh, as she uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. What an annoying habit. "Flavio, have you ever felt anything romantic or sexual for Santiago?"

Now the Italian wasn't expecting this question. Dr. Perry had asked if they were together, and when he said no, she dropped it. "I told you we weren't together."

"That isn't what I asked. I asked what you felt for him."

Flavio hesitated, tilting his head to the side. He found no reason to lie much in these sessions. Dr. Perry promised not to tell, and so far she hadn't. "I don't know. I don't love him as a friend or a boyfriend or whatever. I just...love him. A lot. More than anyone. More than my family and myself. Call it whatever you like. We love each other."

"When did you start feeling that way?"

Flavio shrugged a bit. "I dunno. It just happened. Maybe...sixth grade? We became blood brothers, rubbed our cuts together and stuff. Gross, but it felt right. We promised to be together forever. Then Santi got really weird...he started missing school and he never talked when he was there, only a little to me. After a few months, he suddenly became really clingy and...it was nice. He needed me. He still does. I still don't know what happened..."

"Is it possible that you only like feeling needed? That no one will need you as much as Santiago?" Dr. Perry inquired, adjusting her glasses. "Maybe you don't particularly care about his personality or interests or thoughts. You like the dependency that he conveys onto you."

Flavio became enraged by this, getting up and stomping out of the room. He genuinely loved Santiago, and the idea that he only liked feeling needed was awful.

He whipped his phone out, calling Santiago and immediately faking a cheerful voice. "I'm done for the day! Want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah. Thanks. You're usually done later."

"Mm. I'll see you soon. I love you, Santi."

"Yeah. Love you too."

Flavio hung up the phone, smiling serenely as he walked to his car. Ridiculous. He loved every inch of Santiago, and he would even if the other didn't need him.

Although, that was a test he didn't want to try out.

* * *

After becoming blood brothers, it seemed things only got better for the two friends. They had a bunch of classes together, and it was rare to be away from each other's sight. Things were peaceful.

Yet everything came to a screeching halt one freezing November day.

Santiago had to go home, because Flavio was visiting extending family and his Nonno didn't want any friends. Though going home wasn't fun, it was better than stalking around the neighborhood, with the possibility of getting jumped.

Lately, his father had been getting more aggressive, always screaming and shouting about how little money they were making. If he were a bit more confident, Santiago would tell him that maybe if he didn't spend so much on beer and cigarettes they'd have some cash saved. But he valued his life, so he kept quiet.

When he walked inside his house, his father was talking with another man on the couch. He nodded at Santiago to sit. "Good. You're here. This is him, Ron."

The stranger, whose name was apparently Ron, studied the boy, humming. "You weren't kidding about the hair. Luckily it ain't a setback, guys'll want to see him even more like this. Makes him exotic..."

Santiago furrowed his brows, immediately wishing he would have just stayed outside. "What's he talking about, papa?"

"Ron is a photographer. He's gonna take a few pictures of you, and you better fucking do what he says."

Seemed easy enough, even Santiago couldn't mess it up. He followed the man to his room, sitting on the bed.

The first shots were easy, all he wanted were a few regular pictures of him. Not even smiling, just sitting there. Weird. If this is all he had to do, though, it would be simple.

Santiago wished it would stay that way.

"Take them off."

"What?"

"Your clothes. Off."

Santiago was startled by this command, gripping his shirt tightly. His father said nothing about this. "I don't want to..."

"You know how much I'm paying your dad for you? Think he'll be happy if you don't listen to me and ends up not getting his money?"

Well that certainly scared the shit out of Santiago. Hesitantly, he took his shirt off, as well as his jeans.

"Everything off."

God. Why did he have to do this? Once he was completely exposed, Ron snapped more pictures of him, murmuring under his breath.

Santiago zoned out, and soon it was like none of this was happening. He was made to do all kinds of different poses and angles, all revealing and embarrassing. When it was done, Ron simply left the room, leaving the boy to think about what just occurred.

He wanted to ask his father why that happened. Why it had to be him. Who were those pictures for. Was it always going to be like this.

But he didn't. He put his clothes back on, and went to sleep.

Santiago didn't cry. He just laid in bed, unsure how to feel. Someone saw him and looked at him, at his body, something intimate that was not meant for that man. His father probably felt nothing. He was incapable of feeling any guilt or sorrow, just anger and rage.

Somewhere in his bouts of unsatisfying sleep, he woke up with his head in his mother's lap, and her fingers stroking his hair soothingly. After a moment, she began to sing to him, and Santiago recognized the song. When he was really little, it would be sung to him whenever his mama was in a good mood. He let the gentle crooning wash over him.

" _Arrorró mi niño,_  
 _arrorró mi sol,_  
 _arrorró pedazo,_  
 _de mi corazón._

 _Este niño lindo_  
 _ya quiere dormir;_  
 _háganle la cuna_  
 _de rosa y jazmín._

 _Háganle la cama_  
 _en el toronjil,_  
 _y en la cabecera_  
 _pónganle un jazmín_  
 _que con su fragancia_  
 _me lo haga dormir._

 _Arrorró mi niño,_  
 _arrorró mi sol,_  
 _arrorró pedazo,_  
 _de mi corazón_."

Santiago loathed himself for crying at this, for gripping onto his mama like a baby. But he wanted to be babied for once. He wanted the love that he never got from his parents, he wanted warm family dinners and inquiries about school and watching movies together, laughing at the dumb jokes. It wasn't fair that he had to be stuck with two people who didn't want him. It wasn't fair that Flavio had normal parents who loved him, and he had two who hated him. What was so good about Flavio?

He was disgusted by his own jealousy. It wasn't Flavio's fault that Santiago was unloved and mistreated. The only moments he could be cuddled by his mother was when he was taken advantage of. The only time his father appreciated his existence was when it was beneficial.

There was a million things he wanted to ask his mama, especially during such a rare moment, but he just cried against her, clinging onto the sweet words she sung.

" _Esta leche linda_  
 _que le traigo aquí,_  
 _es para este niño_  
 _que se va a dormir._

 _Arrorró mi niño,_  
 _arrorró mi sol,_  
 _arrorró pedazo,_  
 _de mi corazón._

 _Este lindo niño_  
 _se quiere dormir..._  
 _cierra los ojitos_  
 _y los vuelve a abrir._

 _Arrorró mi niño,_  
 _arrorró mi sol,_  
 _duérmase pedazo,_  
 _de mi corazón_."

* * *

 **Pretty self explanatory but the song she sings is called Arrorró Mi Niño**


	4. Hurt Me, Hurt You

**Unhealthy friendships A+**

* * *

Santiago considered Flavio's room his true home sometimes.

He had slept in this bed more than his own, and memorized every inch of the area. The wallpaper, the carpet, the souvenirs from when his Nonno was on business somewhere far, the trendy clothes littered on the floor...everything felt so comforting here. Probably because everything here was Flavio.

Lots of memories were scattered throughout, warming Santiago up no matter what had happened with his father. Pictures of the two in various frames. Souvenirs from all the dumb adventures they went on. Pathetic gifts that the Spaniard had to make his friend for birthdays and Christmas.

Then there were the memories that couldn't be visible. All the times Santiago would cry on the floor, an arm permanently wrapped around him. When he'd help Flavio's grandfather by holding his friend down and allowing a feeding tube to be put in him. When Flavio was feeling so violent and off his meds, he'd convince Santiago to let him strangle his neck only for a little while. Only until he passed out.

He laid on the bed, enjoying being comforted by his best friend, as he had told him about his father. He left out the part about him being teased about a particularly traumatic part of his life, because Flavio just couldn't know about that. Santiago loved it when the Italian made a fuss over him, it seemed like no one else bothered.

"Poor Santi. That man is a monster..." he crooned, petting his friend's hair as they cuddled up against one another, pressing as close as possible. "I should have taken you with me, even if you're stubborn..."

"It's fine..." mumbled Santiago, face buried in the other's neck. "Not your fault or anything. Should've went to my room..." Of course, he knew full well his father would come into his bedroom to say the same cruel things. He didn't even have a lock. Plus, he hated going into his damp, pathetic room. It was hardly a sanctuary. But blaming Flavio was unthinkable.

"Still...you're staying here tonight. No question about it." Flavio tilted the Spaniard's head a bit, kissing both of his cheeks.

"Mm. Okay..." Sleepovers at the Vargas house were the norm for him, though it occurred much less often than when they were kids. Probably because now Santiago's mother needed help too. Or because Flavio was a bit scary without his medicine to calm him down.

It was awful, to be afraid of your best friend sometimes. But even when Flavio screamed at him and beat his fists against the other's chest, it was alright. Because afterwards, they'd kiss and make up and go back to being friends. His father would never do that.

Santiago's eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion. When he was forced to stay at his own house overnight, he couldn't get much sleep. He was always wide awake, listening to the sound of his father's snores, waiting to see if he'd wake up in the middle of the night and hurt him. It wouldn't have been the first time, and it was always worse when he was asleep.

"Aw, go to sleep, Santi...we'll eat when you wake up, okay?"

Santiago nodded, allowing his eyes to shut completely. "Thanks for being good to me..." he muttered, much to tired to feel any embarrassment from the line. He didn't hear the gentle reply from his friend, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

"You deserve all the good things in the world."

Flavio was being truthful. For the most part. He did think Santiago deserved a better life than the one he had, but his ideal life for his best friend was simply being around him forever and ever. No parents, no family, no other friends. Just them. Secluded from the cruel world they lived in, the one that took good people like Santiago away. It already snatched his parents. But he was over that. After all, what were they to Santiago? What was anyone compared to him?

Another version of a perfect world would be one that had the two of them cuddling like this on top of Santiago's cold, dead father. Flavio had never felt hatred so painfully ferocious before he had seen that revolting excuse for a man. He ruined Flavio's beloved, so why shouldn't he be ruined back?

The Italian often daydreamed about how he'd do it. Nicking another one of Luciano's knives and stabbing him until he was as scarred as Santiago. Poisoning him and watching as he tries to pathetically grasp at life. Choking. Shooting. Ripping out his lungs and making him watch his own intestines spill out.

Sick men needed to die. He learned that a long time ago. For all the times he berated and hit and beat and tortured the love of Flavio's life, he deserved worse than death itself.

Surely he'd get away with it. He would use gloves, leave no traces, and pin it all on that useless mother. She would probably love to be taken away from her son. Until she had gotten her own beating, she was just as cruel.

Flavio caressed his friend's rough cheek, admiring him as he snoozed. Santiago looked so peaceful when he was asleep. So unlike the way he was when conscious. He looked absolutely beautiful...

Flavio leaned in slowly, nudging the other's lips open with his tongue, before delving inside of the warm mouth, letting out a little sigh. This wasn't bad. They had done this tons of times when Santiago was awake, so why should he being unconscious change that? In Flavio's defense, this was his favorite place to be, inside the mouth of his best friend, tongues touching lightly and breath mingling. God, it was great.

After a few minutes, Flavio pulled away, a string of saliva connecting their mouths together. It sent a shiver up the Italian's spine, and he wanted more from his friend. But perhaps that was a bit unfair. Kissing was one thing, but surely Santiago would wake up if he felt his cock being sucked. What a shame.

Though, like the kissing, it wouldn't have been for the first time. No one could blame the boys for being curious about sexuality, especially when it started in their early teens. Eventually sleeping in the same bed became a bit awkward, especially when their developing bodies had been pressed against one another. It was only natural for them to touch and experiment with this newfound, strange thing.

It started with semi unintentional dry humping until they came, but escalated as they learned about it more. Soon it went to touching themselves next to each other, looking into one another's eyes as they moaned and squirmed. Then their hands couldn't just keep to themselves, the curiosity too much to handle.

They'd certainly done a lot. Except for going all the way, which kind of disgruntled Flavio. He wanted to actually feel his friend inside of him, to be close as humanly possible. But that wasn't something he could just ask Santiago for, especially since when they had gotten close to it, the Spaniard immediately jumped off and started to apologize. Cute, but disappointing. He would have to settle with fingers.

Speaking of which. Flavio delicately took a hold of his friend's wrist, uncurling the fist he had locked on slowly, making sure the other wouldn't wake up from this. He managed to get off his pants and briefs, though it certainly wasn't easy with one hand. But letting go didn't feel right.

Getting the fingers inside was the hard part. It was always easy when Santiago was awake, because he usually did all the work. But Flavio was forced to bounce on his friend's fingers, fitting in as much as he could, moaning as quietly as possible.

It was so good. It always was. Having something in him, something that was a part of Santiago, was wonderful. He didn't need anything more than his fingers and tongue. Even if they never used anything actually phallic, Flavio would be content.

He rode thick, calloused fingers to an orgasm, whispering his beloved's name out into the darkness as he spilled onto the blanket.

Flavio licked the excess off of Santiago's fingers.

The Spaniard didn't even stir, too deep in sleep to even realize what had happened.

* * *

It was on Santiago's eighth birthday that Flavio had found out about his father. Coincidentally, that was also the year they found out what kissing was.

It always puzzled the Italian as to why his friend never had a birthday party. He never even really mentioned his special day, making Flavio swear not to tell anyone else. It just seemed like any other day in February.

Well, it was time to change that. After the two were done school, Flavio dragged his best friend to the woods by the middle school, and there they played joyously. They climbed the trees and played pretend and chased each other until they were out of breath, and then some. It was freezing out, but neither seemed to mind. All they cared about was each other.

"How come you don't throw a party like I do, Santi?" Flavio asked as they cuddled up beneath one of the trees, nighttime approaching. Neither of them particularly cared about their families worrying. Flavio's parents were too wrapped up with their newborn, and Santiago's were wrapped up in their own lives.

"Papa and mama don't like people in our house...and they don't wanna pay for a cake." Santiago certainly liked to speak more now that he had a good grasp on English. Now he seemed to chatter almost as much as his friend. "They don't even like getting me any presents."

"No presents? That's so mean!" Flavio gaped, surprised how anyone could miss out on gifts, especially when it was your birthday! "Don't worry, I'll get you presents, Santi! The best kind things out there!"

"Really?"

"Of course! Here's one!" Clumsily and abruptly, Flavio puckered his lips and pressed them against Santiago's unsuspecting ones, making him squeak in surprise. When both boys pulled apart, their cheeks were pink, and not from the cold.

"Why'd you kiss me?"

"It was a present! Duh!"

"But...you kiss girls..."

"Nuh uh. You can kiss anyone! I just kissed you, see?"

Santiago furrowed his brows, before huffing. "I guess so..."

Again, they shared a kiss. And another. Maybe one more. It wasn't anything sexual or romantic at the time, they were simply fascinated with the feeling.

Eventually, Flavio grabbed his friend's hand, giggling. "Let's go! It's getting late, and Luci will be worried about me!" Though his baby brother was only one, Flavio was certain that he had the most responsibilities in taking care of him. He had to be there to play, after all, a crucial part of the day.

The two ran out of the wood, and onto the street, where they headed home, still buzzed from playing for hours and the kisses they shared. Neither knew how to explain their feelings, but it was definitely different from kissing a family member. More important, and not something to tell their parents about.

When a rusty, old truck pulled over beside them, Flavio thought nothing of it. However, his friend stopped walking altogether, and the look on his face was something that the Italian boy would dream about for weeks on end.

Pure and utter terror. The way he began to tremble and whimper was absolutely devastating, and Flavio became scared as well.

Out of the truck came a bigger, older, scarier looking version of his best friend, who was scowling at Santiago with disgust. Real disgust, as if he was looking at some kind of rodent. "Do you have any fucking idea what time it is? Your mama nearly called the police, thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere..."

"S-Sorry, papa. We were just playing..."

"I don't give a fuck. You're lucky I was the one who showed up, and not some fucking molester. Get in the truck."

Santiago looked to his feet, squeezing his friend's hand tightly. "But papa..."

Smack.

Flavio had never seen another person get hit in real life. Especially not a kid like him and Santiago. But now his friend's cheek was red and he was sniffling and there was a wet patch on his pants.

"You do what I say! I'm sick of your ungrateful comments and how useless you are! I wish some pervert would take you away, so you'd understand how good you have it! Get in the fucking truck right now, or I'll beat your ass right in front of your little boyfriend!"

"I'm sorry..." Santiago murmured to his father tearfully, letting go of Flavio's hand and getting into the truck, staring miserably at his buddy. It was like watching someone leave for death row.

Santiago's dad didn't acknowledge Flavio any further than a sour look, he simply got in and drove off, leaving the Italian cold and alone in the dark.

Never before had the boy felt such burning hatred for someone, and he felt himself tremble with indignation.

He wanted to choke that man. He wanted to bang his head back on the ground until the blood stained the pavement and he wasn't breathing. Then him and Santi would kiss lots and be happy.

His parents always reminded him not to be violent. No Flavio, you can't hurt the animals anymore. No Flavio, you have to be nice to the kids, even if you don't like them. No Flavio, stop squeezing your little brother's neck! Oh god, you'll kill him, ohgodohgodohgodohgod...

Usually these were accompanied with tears, and his mama asking God what she had done to make her son like this. Then they'd give Flavio some pills, and things were happy again. Flavio never intended to kill his baby brother, nor was he choking him out of malicious intent. It was just fun to hear Luciano let out little gasps of air and cry so weakly. He always showered his brother with kisses afterward, so it was fine, wasn't it?

But his mama still didn't trust them alone together, because every time they were alone the choking would begin. If not that, then bruises littering the baby's chubby arms and legs. It was so pretty! Alas, his artistic nature was suppressed by his parents, who would tell him over and over that if he hurt Luciano too much, his brother wouldn't wake up. Well, why was that so bad? All he did when he was awake was cry anyway. Maybe sleeping forever and ever made sense.

When Flavio returned to his house, his mother immediately rushed to him, cradling a fussy Luciano. "There you are! Do you know how late it is? Where were you?"

"With Santi, mama! It's his birthday, so we were playing!" Flavio glanced at his brother, and immediately he was pulled out of reach. "It was fun! Then his papa took him away..."

Unlike Flavio, most parents of the town knew the kind of condition the Fernandez family lived in, and made a point to keep their children away from Santiago. All except for Flavio's parents. It was too late to save their child from a friendship with the troubled boy, he had already grown attached.

"You and Santiago need to be careful! Bad people live out there, and they snatch up little boys..."

"What do they do to them?" Flavio followed his mother into the living room, sitting on the couch and hugging his baby brother when his mother was off guard. She visibly flinched, but didn't pull back.

"Bad things. Very bad things."

"Like what?"

"Like...sell you to mean masters who'll make you clean everything and eat vegetables all day."

Flavio stuck his tongue out, before squishing both of the baby's cheeks, giggling at the gurgles he received. "Scary! I won't stay out that late again!"

"Good boy."

"Mama, why can't I sleep in Luci's room anymore?"

Back when Luciano was born, Flavio insisted on keeping his bed in the same room, so they would be roommates. However, months later, Flavio was quickly switched to the guest room, much to his disappointment.

His mother froze, debating how to answer her inquisitive son. How do you tell a child that you were afraid they'd kill? "Flavio...you're very mean sometimes. Luciano is too little to deal with that. You can't choke or pinch someone and say you love them lots."

"I did it to you and papa! And you love me!"

Did they?

"Yes...but we're big, and can protect ourselves. Luciano's just a baby..."

"Oh. Okay." Flavio went back to playing with Luciano, poking his chubby cheeks and letting his tiny fingers pull at chestnut hair.

It made sense.

If they were big enough to defend themselves, it was okay to hurt them.

* * *

 **I love Flavio tbh**


	5. Don't Abandon Me

**uhhhh major tw for this chapter fyi**

* * *

Santiago loved sleeping. But with sleeping came the occasional nightmare, and his were always the worst.

Usually, there were three of them.

The first was about his father. The pain seemed so real when he was dreaming, and the things he did were a lot worse. He hurt him in front of a crowd of people, who just stared or laughed or shook their head in disapproval. His father would scream at him every time he laid on the floor in anguish. That dream was the most common.

Then there was the dream that made him want to wake up and take a scalding hot shower. Hands, rough and old and ice cold, touching him everywhere. No matter what, he couldn't get away from them, no matter how much he squirmed. Something frigid on his neck, making him scream out. But only silence would greet him.

Finally, there was the dream he dreaded the most, because it involved Flavio. His friend was above him, striking his chest with a knife over and over, all while giggling and smiling and kissing his cheek, as if everything was normal. Under his breath, he chanted, " _Mine, mine, mine, mine..._ "

Today was the third one. He should have been used to the feeling of Flavio thrusting the sharp blade in and out of him, blood splattering the walls surrounding the two. Flavio's eyes were clouded with insanity, the grin on his face too wide to be natural. In a sing-song voice, he crooned, " _Santiiiii...wake uuup..._ "

But no. That wasn't a dream at all. The real Flavio was shaking him, looking the way he always did, which wasn't scary at all.

"Santi, we gotta go to school."

Santiago sluggishly looked over at the clock, which read 6:30. Flavio probably needed time to get ready.

"Hey, did you have a bad dream again?" Flavio frowned, cupping his friend's cheek. "You're really pale and sweaty..."

"Uh huh."

"One, two, or three?"

Santiago was hesitant to answer, because his friend always got a bit upset when the nightmare about him occurred. "...Two."

"Poor Santi." The Italian leaned in, connecting their lips for a long moment. The kiss was gentle and comforting, and Santiago wished they could stay like this all day instead of going to school. Alas, it had to end, as Flavio's outfit for the day was a huge priority.

Santiago, on the other hand, instead went to change his shirt and pants with the few clothes he kept stashed in the room, for nights when he happened to crash at the Vargas house without packing. His clothes weren't at all nice looking, coming from Goodwill and either being too baggy or too small on Santiago. The only thing that really fit him was a plain red t-shirt. He got the least amount of snickers with that on.

"Santi, what do you think of this one?" Flavio asked, showing off his cream colored shirt and black vest, adorned with his favorite pink scarf. "It's cute, right? Unless you think it's too much..."

"It's nice. I like it." That was the default answer Santiago had learned to always say. Last time he said anything that could be interpreted as criticism, Flavio sobbed and refused to go to school. Fashion was important to him, it seemed to make him feel more confident about himself. Santiago wished he had an outlet like that.

"Aw, thanks..." Flavio giggled, taking a few cosmetics out of a small case, inspecting himself in his mirror. Santiago wasn't sure how makeup could possibly improve the Italian's already stunning features, but his friend refused to go anyway without foundation, mascara, and a little bit of blush.

When everything was perfect to Flavio, he dragged Santiago downstairs, where the rest of his family was awake. Luciano was groggily eating a bowl of cereal, watching some slasher movie on TV, while his Nonno was talking on the phone. He always seemed to be talking to someone, even in the early morning. He didn't acknowledge the two, but Luciano looked over and wrinkled his nose.

Flavio grinned, walking over to ruffle his brother's hair, something the younger despised. "How are you this beautiful morning, Luci? All ready for school?"

"Fuck off!" Luciano growled, pushing his hand off. He looked over at Santiago, blinking slowly, which was the friendliest way he knew how to say hello. Even though Luciano hated everyone, he seemed to accept Santiago for some reason, possibly because all the time the Spaniard spent at his house. In fact, he seemed to find him much more tolerable than his own brother.

"So mean to me!" Flavio pinched both of his cheeks, quickly running out the door before his brother could smack him. His reflexes were getting better.

They got into Flavio's car, and Santiago suddenly was happy he wasn't a kid anymore. When he disappeared for the night, his father would make him stay home just to push him around all day. Now he didn't care what happened to his son. As long as he wasn't inconvenienced, Santiago could go anywhere with his friend.

If he really wanted to, he could kill himself with Flavio.

Not as bad as he thought it would sound.

* * *

Flavio really disliked chemistry.

It was the second day of school, and already they were told that they would be doing an experiment to "freshen their minds". Fuck it. Wasn't it her job to teach them stuff and review?

But that wasn't the worst part of it. She announced that the partners for the lab would be assigned.

Flavio didn't get paired up with Santiago.

Santiago got paired up with some girl named Anri Wouters, who seemed like a right bitch. Flavio, on the other hand, was stuck with some junior, Elise Vogel, who gave him a dirty look as his name was called. God, was everyone in this school a terrible person? Probably.

Well, at least they got the lab done, not without some biting comments from Elise, who was awfully inquisitive about his friendship with Santiago and criticized his looks. People like that made him sick.

What made him even more sick was seeing Santiago work with Anri. He didn't look half as miserable as Flavio did. In fact, at one point, the two laughed at something.

Santiago laughed with this person.

He hardly ever smiled, much less laugh, around Flavio. Not because he hated it, but because he just wasn't an upbeat person.

But maybe Santiago did hate being around him.

Maybe he liked being around other people more. Maybe he liked Anri. She was pretty, for sure. Maybe they were already planning to fuck in some secluded place after school.

Flavio felt tears prick the corner of his eyes, and he gripped his pencil hard. He wanted her to die. He wanted to stab her neck over and over until she spat out blood. Until she couldn't laugh anymore. Until her smirk was replaced with a horrified gape.

He sat in his seat, immobile, for the rest of the period. When the bell rang, he headed straight to his car, him and Santiago's usual place to eat. Well, Santiago would eat anyway. Flavio would just chat away and sometimes accept a few bites of food. Eating wasn't a fun thing for him in the slightest. Fashion wasn't made for the ones with fat, he learned that long ago.

Santiago showed up minutes later, with a sandwich, chips, and cola. Since Flavio didn't buy any lunch, he gave a lot of his money to Santiago's account, so his friend could eat. The Spaniard broke his sandwich in half, offering it. "Here."

Flavio looked at Santiago for a moment, before beginning to shake, gritting his teeth hard. That's all he had to say? He didn't even care that Flavio was hurting because of him. It just made the Italian so, so angry...

He slapped the sandwich out of his friend's hand, before grabbing onto his neck. Flavio's fingers squeezed relentlessly, his eyes wide and tearful, trembling and shouting nonsensical threats. Santiago was his, and if he had to kill him just to preserve their friendship, then what was wrong with that? No one could ruin them then. No one could try and steal him away.

Santiago stared at him, letting out little gags and choked pleas, trying to pry the other off unsuccessfully. He could have always hit Flavio to get him off, but he didn't want to hurt the Italian. That would be a fate worse than death.

Soon, Flavio's anger drained, and he realized what he was doing to the Spaniard. He let go, horrified, covering his face. "Oh my God...Santi, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." He began to wail, letting out shuddering gasps. "I-I thought you liked her m-more than me..."

It took Santiago a moment to respond, obviously trying to regulate his breathing. "Who...? Anri? I don't like her at all..."

"You laughed with her! You never do that with me! I just thought...you were happy to be around someone other than me..." Flavio sniffled, biting his lip. "We've been friends forever...I thought you finally got sick of me...I'm not that interesting or anything, so..."

Santiago shook his head, shuffling closer and wrapping an arm around his friend slowly. "No...I would never get tired of you..." he began, clearly having a difficult time trying to express his feelings. "You're the only person...who has ever cared about me..."

How true this seemed to be for both of them. Santiago was certain that no one else was concerned with his life, and Flavio wanted to be the only person who cared about him. Everyone else was simply background noise.

"But...you seemed so calm with her...and happy..."

"I don't even remember what I was laughing at...something stupid. It's not like I'm a fucking mess with everyone I meet, you know..."

Flavio immediately began to feel better, smiling brightly. "Yeah...you're right, Santi! I just misread the situation...but you know...you could have at least spent some time with me during class...or asked the teacher to switch us...just seems like you weren't trying to make me feel better at all."

"I wasn't...I didn't mean to upset you..." Santiago stammered. "I just didn't want to make a fuss..."

"So I'm not worth a fuss? Hm. Okay. I guess you have a point..."

"That's not...I didn't mean it that way...of course you're worth it. I'm sorry...I'll ask to switch, if you want...and I won't talk to Anri. She's pretty annoying anyway..."

Bliss spread throughout Flavio, as he was pleased with the guilt his friend was probably ridden with. Good. Now there was no way for him to make another heartbreaking mistake. Sometimes dealing with Santiago's selfishness was a difficulty. Ah, but it was worth it.

"Thank you, Santi. I love you."

"Love you too."

"I know you do."

Maybe it was good that Santiago clearly had an inkling of fear towards Flavio.

Then he'd be too scared to run away.

* * *

In Santiago's mind, the only people more despicable than his father were the friends he hung around with.

There was someone over the house every day, sometimes just one and sometimes ten or fifteen. Santiago wasn't sure what they did, but it was surely something different than playing video games like he and Flavio did. He supposed they partook in...grown up stuff. Stuff he couldn't really understand.

Santiago was fourteen, but still felt like a little kid. He still wanted to be babied and yearned for the acceptance of his father. Something that seemed impossible these days. Things were only getting more violent, with him being pushed down the steps out front because he was late for school. No bad injuries, but he was limping a little. Flavio noticed right away, as per usual, and had made him lay down on his bed, acting as a nurse.

His father's friends were just as cruel, often teasing Santiago and shoving him around, joining in with awful jeers about his appearance and personality. Did it hurt? That was unknown. Santiago didn't really...feel much anymore. Sometimes he was happy or sad or frustrated but...most of the time, everything was empty.

One night, there was a sort of party happening out back, which was more a bunch of pissed off people drinking and complaining than anything. Santiago had intended to stay in his room the whole time, his best friend busy with some family business, but decided to get something to drink.

Luck seemed to be on his side, when he managed to find some soda in the very back of the fridge, concealed by all the alcohol. Santiago was acquainted with the taste of booze, and hated everything about it. The only possible plus side was he didn't have to think anymore.

As he cracked open the can, someone spoke up behind him. The familiar tone made the boy freeze and break into a cold sweat, gripping the can hard. "Hey, long time, no see, kiddo."

That horrid, horrid man. The photographer who had taken all of his strength years ago. Posed him, made him feel vulnerable, then gave his dad money for it. Where did those pictures go? He wasn't really sure, and he didn't want to know. Santiago should have ran back to his room, but he stayed still.

"Whatsa matter? Don't ya remember me?" Footsteps. The presence was getting closer. "I remember you. You got me a pretty good amount of money. Still a pretty damn cute kid too."

"...Leave me alone..."

"Huh? Whadja say?" A hand on his shoulder, and Santiago was turned around, forced to look the man in the face. His eyes were the definition of predatory. "C'mon, didn't ya miss me? I missed you..."

He needed to get out. He stared longingly at the back door, praying that someone, anyone, would walk in and tell this guy to fuck off.

Santiago wanted to scream when he felt hands on his waist, and sneaking up his shirt slowly. But his voice was stuck in his throat, and it couldn't get out.

"How much d'you think I should pay you for this?"

 _Nonononononononono_!

"C'mon, what are your rates?" His laugh was so ugly.

 _Getoffgetoffgetfofodgettoffofof_!

It was then that Santiago decided to run, pushing the man as hard as he could and running out of the kitchen.

His father had a tendency to stack up glass bottles around the living room, until it became too much of a problem. Santiago's eyes were shut for a split second when he was running, and ended up tripping on one of these bottles, crashing face first into a huge pile of them.

Everything hurt. He could feel blood on his face. Ugly laughter was behind him. "Had an accident? Poor kid. I bet it all hurts. Bet you need to feel better."

Santiago couldn't move anymore. He couldn't wriggle away when the hands were back on him, so he just. Gave up. He escaped into his mind, and allowed himself to black out.

When he woke up, he was still on the floor. The man was gone. His face was still bleeding. He looked around, trying to see if his mother had come inside yet.

He didn't see any sign of her. Or anyone. What he did see was two crumpled twenties next to him on the floor.

Santiago took the money, and went to the bathroom, stripping down and taking a scalding hot shower. He felt gross. Dirty. He could feel sticky residue wash off his thighs. That man had done something obviously, but he couldn't remember much of it. Bits and pieces, mainly a vile, cold tongue trailing up his neck.

Santiago scrubbed and scrubbed that spot until he was bleeding. Even then, he felt like it was tainted. Like that spot would forever be marked, and no amount of scrubbing could remove it.

He didn't cry. He simply got out of the shower, put on his pajamas, and vomited. After that bit, he treated the wounds on his face, fighting back anything resembling tears.

Nothing happened. He was okay. He had money now, and maybe he could buy Flavio something! Sure, the glass bottles being shattered had left deep cuts on his face, particularly his lip, but he was sure that it wasn't tragic or anything. He never had a nice looking face, so this only enhanced how hideous he was. Which was fine.

Santiago crawled into bed, almost immediately falling into a deep sleep. He was fine with looking like this. What he wasn't fine with was the possibility of Flavio not being able to accept how ugly he now was.

* * *

Flavio, expectantly, freaked out when he saw his friend's new scars.

Santiago couldn't blame him, they were certainly gross looking, scabbed over and frequently bleeding. Nothing too bad. But Flavio seemed more concerned about how he got them, dragging the Spaniard to his house after school and examining him closer.

"Was it your dad again?" he whispered, finger running over the one on his lip.

"...Uh huh. I just...messed up while he was drunk and he pushed me into the bottles." Lying to his friend wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Santiago didn't _want_ to lie or anything, but he was far too ashamed of what actually occurred. He didn't want Flavio to think of him as weak.

Immediately, Flavio's eyes lit up with indignation, and he growled a bit. It was surprising to see his normally levelheaded friend so angry. "That bastard. I'll kill him...he'll die, Santi, you won't have to worry about being hurt..."

It was...scary, yeah, but also a little relieving to see someone care so much about his well being. "Don't. I'll be fine. Okay? It's okay."

Flavio said nothing, staring at the Spaniard before suddenly leaning in and kissing the cut on his lip. "You're so tough, Santi...I admire you..." he crooned, continuing to peck the injury lovingly. "I wish I could be half as strong as you...so strong..." Kiss. "So amazing..." Kiss kiss. "So wonderful." Lick.

Santiago sat there, allowing the other to do as he pleased, enjoying the affection. It made him feel a lot better about his face.

But then he felt Flavio's tongue on his neck, and his mind jumped back to last night.

No.

 _Nonononononono_.

"Cut it out..." he mumbled, pushing his shoulder, pretending to be playful. "Let's do something else."

"Why? I wanna make you feel better." Flavio giggled, his hand sliding lower, palming it flat against the palm of his pants. "This'll make you feel really good."

 _"I bet it all hurts. Bet you need to feel better."_

"I don't...really want to right now."

Flavio frowned, taking his hand away slowly. "Oh...I'm sorry, Santi. I guess I'm being pretty disgusting, huh...there's no way you'd want to be touched by someone as gross as me."

"No, that's not it..." Santiago felt guilt in the pit of his stomach, washing over his fear. "You're not gross..."

"Then what's the issue? It'll be fun..." Flavio unbuttoned the other's trousers, kissing his neck. "Please...?"

 _A cold, cold tongue on his neck. So cold. He was going to freeze to death._

He didn't want to be touched like this. He didn't want someone's hands there. "Okay."

Another kiss to his neck, and the hand slid inside of his pants. Slender fingers slid around his length, pumping him in quick strokes. It felt nice. It really did. So why then did Santiago feel so uncomfortable? Flavio showering him with kisses should have been sweet...right? So why did he want to push his friend off and run?

He didn't do that though. Santiago gave in to the pleasure, trying to conceal any embarrassingly loud sounds. He let out a sharp groan when he released into the Italian's hand, shuddering. He felt gross again. He needed another shower.

Flavio slowly looked at his dirtied hand, tilting his head to the side. He leaned in to experimentally lick the substance on it, grinning over at his best friend. "It tastes just like you, Santi."

 _"You taste fucking delicious."_

Santiago said nothing. He laid down on the bed, trembling, a sob building in his throat. Flavio snuggled up against him, cupping his face.

"Shh. It's okay. It's just me, Santi."

"We shouldn't...that wasn't a good idea..."

"Huh? Why not? I can't even express how much I appreciate you?" Flavio sighed, letting go of him. "Mm. I guess I upset you. Maybe you should go..."

"Go?"

"Yeah...I made you mad, right? Maybe we need to spend some time alone."

Santiago immediately shook his head, hugging his friend tightly, forcing himself to kiss his cheek over and over. "I'm sorry. I do appreciate it, it felt really good. I'm sorry for being selfish and ungrateful. Don't leave me alone."

Flavio giggled, kissing him briefly. "Of course I won't leave you alone! I was just kidding! But I'm glad you liked it." He paused, fingers running through his hair. "I know you don't mean to be ungrateful or selfish. I forgive you, Santi. I'd never, ever hurt you for something like that!"

"I know." Santiago was so happy he had someone as forgiving as Flavio in his life. He had been a mistake to his parents, and a freak to other kids. With this person, however, he felt at peace. As long as he did right. "I love you."

"I love you too, Santi! You're the only person I love, the only one I'll ever love! Not even my family deserves the adoration I feel for you! You feel the same way, right?"

"Yes."

"I know you do."

* * *

 **Santiago's life is shit om g**


	6. I Love You More

**Anyway here's Wonderwall**

* * *

Even though he would claim their friendship was nothing more, Flavio loved the sexual aspect of it.

Anywhere they could fool around was good enough for him. The car, bed, couch, shower...wherever they could touch each other would work. It wasn't anything foreign, they knew each other's bodies well. Acquainted with the scars and ribs that stuck out, it wasn't embarrassing anymore. It was just how things were.

Though they usually went to Flavio's house for that sort of thing, the Italian instead went to the pathetically shabby home of Santiago, claiming that some work was to be done in his bedroom. In all honesty, he just wanted to taint this horrid place with their love. They kicked their shoes off inside, Santiago greeting his mom emotionlessly.

His good for nothing mother didn't look at them as they came in, mumbling a dreamy "hi, sweetie" as the TV presented nothing but static. The way she looked at it, so intensely, made it seem like something was playing, was absolutely unnerving. She had lost it. Flavio was repulsed by her, making a point to give her the dirtiest look he could muster. She didn't even blink.

Once they were in his room, Flavio looked around, fascinated. He hadn't been in his friend's bedroom in years. There wasn't must, aside from each and every gift that Santiago had received from him, even if it was handmade like the clay ashtray from fifth grade or expensive like the guitar he bought in eighth grade. Aside from the gifts, there were multiple pictures of them taped around his bed. Flavio's favorite was of them pressed cheek to cheek, grinning like idiots, the photo being taken by an instant camera they'd found in Flavio's attic. It was one of the few times where Santiago smiled in a picture, and it was unbelievably beautiful.

"We should come here more often. You know, when your dad isn't here."

Santiago shrugged, sitting on his bed, which only blanket was a small quilt. "His work hours are so fucking unpredictable. I don't know if he'll be home in two hours or two minutes."

"Then...we should hurry..." Flavio lowered himself onto his friend's lap, pressing their chests together. "I don't think it will take long...I'm craving you sooo bad, Santi."

A thick swallow, and two hands slowly held his hips. "Yeah..."

Flavio giggled, before slowly rubbing down on one of Santiago's legs, letting out a small moan. "We haven't done...anything in a week...it's really hard, you know? I miss you so much...your mouth all over me...and your fingers..."

Santiago groaned, leaning in to kiss the Italian. This exchange wasn't soft or passionate or loving; it was raw and wet and so dirty. Flavio loved it when the other kissed him like this. It felt so fucking good, to stray away from their normally gentle attitude. A string of saliva hung out of the corner of his mouth as their tongues clashed together.

Santiago was the one to end it, pulling his t-shirt up over his head, before delicately shedding off Flavio's immaculate outfit. He didn't want to ruin it, after all. Flavio grinded down on his knee impatiently, whimpering as he became incredibly hard with arousal.

Santiago took one of the Italian's nipples into his mouth, sucking slowly and listening to the high pitched cries that he got. These were so sensitive for him, it was fun to play with them for hours on end, teasing his friend until he was at the breaking point. Sadistic? Maybe.

"Santiiiii...c'mon, quit teasing me!" Flavio whined, unzipping his jeans, wiggling out of them and exposing himself to Santiago. "Touch me."

"Mmhmm..." Fingers curled around the Italian's erection, making him whine out desperately, rocking up into his hand. Flavio didn't necessarily like receiving the pleasure as much as he liked giving it, but he deserved some kind of treat after today. He had a lot to deal with.

He suddenly pushed Santiago down on the bed, sitting on his chest, scowling a bit. "I'm the only one who can touch you...right, Santi? No one else can ever touch you like I do..."

"...Yeah...only you...I only want you." His voice wavered a bit when he said this. Flavio wondered idly why he seemed a little emotional about it. Oh well.

"And you'll always want me, right?"

"Yes."

Of course he would. Flavio beamed, shuffling around to mouth at the growing erection in Santiago's pants, making him grunt and push his hips up for more. The Italian was happy to oblige, pushing off his friend's boxers to let out his growing erection. It made Flavio's mouth water. He nearly engulfed the whole thing into his mouth, moaning around him. It was fucking divine.

Flavio nearly choked when he felt a tongue prodding at his entrance, halting his movements for a moment to rub down against Santiago's face. Fuck. If there were anything he was embarrassed about, it was his rimming kink. Santiago didn't judge or anything, and he was happy to eat him out. But still. Embarrassing.

They worked as one, with Flavio bobbing his head rhythmically and Santiago lapping at his hole, fingers lightly stroking his length. Their head moves ferociously, eager to get off.

They managed to cum within seconds of each other, Flavio letting out a cry of his friend's name, nails digging into his leg. The Spaniard was much more quiet, letting out a somewhat loud moan. After the initial high of orgasm ended, they laid still, panting and trying not to pass out from the dizziness of everything. They were always so overwhelmed after doing that. Flavio was the one to spin around and reach his arms out.

Lazy kisses and nuzzles were shared between the two sweaty boys, as they slowly began to dress each other again. Flavio was content, wrapping his arms around Santiago and kissing his lips lovingly.

This was his mistake.

He should have been faster. When the bedroom door opened, he should've backed off. He didn't think Santiago's dad would be home this soon. The look on his face was infuriated disgust. He was looking only at his son, whose face drained of all color.

"You. Get out," he grumbled to Flavio, not even looking at him as he said it. Flavio could've refused, protecting Santiago from the undeniable beating he would get. Instead, he nodded slowly, standing up and leaving. He could hear the screams begin as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

His mother's head was bowed. Small, babyish sniffles were the only noise coming out of her, a red wound on her cheek.

Maybe she deserved it.

But Santiago didn't.

He stopped in his tracks when he reached the front yard, coming to a realization.

Bad men deserved to die.

So why not do God's work and kill them already?

* * *

 _Stupid._

 _Ungrateful._

 _Disgusting._

 _Freak._

 _Fag._

Santiago was used to these words. He was used to them sounding so hateful. He was used to the slaps and kicks he received.

Nothing hurt anymore if he tuned out.

 _You're a fucking disgrace._

 _I wish I never had you._

 _I wish you would just fucking go already._

 _You could die tomorrow and no one would care. I would throw a fucking party._

Santiago didn't know why he had to mess up so much. He tried so hard to do his best, he tried to do the right thing. But whether it was with his dad or with Flavio, he always fucked up. Why couldn't he be better?

Maybe his dad wasn't the bad guy. Maybe it was hard to take care of a person like him. These were thoughts Santiago was sure he had outgrown because he was positive that he was the victim. But he had to have been mistaken. No victim deserved this much.

Now his hair _(strange, weird looking hair)_ was being pulled as his father dragged him toward the kitchen. He was filling the sink up with water. His face _(scarred, sickeningly ugly face)_ was bleeding from the nose and a bit from his bottom lip. He didn't make a sound _(every sound he made was stupid anyway)_ , only looked down on the floor, breathing out of his mouth. In and out and in and out and...

Suddenly his head was slammed into the water, which filled up the sink completely. His breath was cut off, and he thrashed about. His father pulled him up again, shaking his entire body like it was some kind of doll.

"If I could kill you, I would! There is absolutely nothing good about you! Nothing of worth! Why are you still here? You don't deserve to breath anymore air!"

Down again into the water. Then up. Then down. The cycle continued, Santiago slowly beginning to lose consciousness, his thrashing stopping altogether. He didn't want to die like this, but death would be nice. Maybe he wouldn't be as destructive in heaven. Then Flavio would come with him, and they'd be happy for all eternity.

When he woke up, he was outside of the house, with nothing but the clothes on his back. He coughed into his hands, water and blood mixing together, his throat throbbing. He got onto his feet, going to the front door.

It was locked.

Santiago panicked, pounding on the door and weakly crying out to be let in.

All he got was silence.

He was going to lose it. He opened his mouth to scream, but was silenced by two comforting arms wrapping around his chest.

"My poor Santi..." cooed Flavio into his ear, his voice strangely on edge. "You don't have to worry about him anymore...never again."

"...Why?" Santiago leaned back, drinking in the sweet, loving tone.

"Because we're going to end him once and for all."

* * *

Flavio loved his parents dearly. But sometimes the ideas they came up were everything but desirable.

His mama kept telling him over the past few weeks how well he was doing and how proud she was and how he could go anywhere and have a fresh, new start. Flavio assumed she was only saying this to make him feel better. He soon learned this was not the case.

His parents sat him and his little brother down one day, telling them the "good news" they had. Papa was being relocated a few states over, and they would get to have a new house and meet new people! It would be great, wouldn't it? Then maybe his oldest could go to parties and play with children who weren't named Santiago, like a normal kid! Because he was a normal kid!

Flavio disagreed. He expressed his dissent by screaming and throwing things, as he learned usually convinced his parents to change their minds.

"Flavio, sweetie, calm down, okay? It'll be fun! We already picked the house out and it's so pretty! It has a big backyard..." Mama soothed, trying to get the boy to put down the vase he was grasping. "And Nonno will visit us lots and you'll have a really big room!"

"No! I want to stay here with Santi! _Don't make me leave Santi_!" he shrieked, before slamming the glass vase against the wall, shattering glass cutting his fingers. He didn't even blink.

Papa picked him up, ignoring his squirms. "That's enough! I'm sick and tired of hearing about Santiago! You need other friends, Flavio..."

"I don't want any other friends! Everyone who isn't Santiago is stupid! _Stupid, stupid, stupid_! Especially you!" wailed Flavio, slamming his fists down against his father's arm desperately.

"I don't want to hear it. We're moving in two weeks. That's that."

"I hate you! I hate you so much! I wish you were dead, _I wish you all fucking died_!" These words weren't empty screams in the heat of the moment. Both parents could tell that their son was utterly serious about it. All the more reason to get away what they assumed to be the source, Santiago. Maybe if they did this, Flavio would be okay again. He didn't need medicine or be sent away to live with the other abnormal children. If they moved, he would stop being curious as to what Luciano's brains looked like, or what papa's face would turn into if his coffee had lots of rat poison in it.

They believed they could cure his violent rage.

It was their own fatal mistake.

* * *

A week later, the Vargas family piled into the car, with an exception of Nonno, to go to the airport. They would be visiting the house so Flavio and Luciano could see where they would be living. Luciano, being only seven and moodily quiet, didn't really care about moving, more concerned with napping in his seat. Flavio was strangely silent, looking intently out his window, listening to the idle chatter of his parents. The radio merrily blared Italian tunes. Everything seemed very relaxed.

Then, Flavio suddenly began to scream at the top of his lungs.

He was relentless, flailing his arms and punching the seat and raking his nails against his arms until he bled. Both his parents tried to calm him down, turning toward him and talking in a sweet voice.

His father always had a habit of continuing to drive even when his attention was on something else. Flavio knew this well.

It wasn't until the truck was about to collide with him that he looked over.

But by then it was too late to react.

Flavio didn't look, only hugged his brother tight as loud noises and screams and crashes hit his ears, the seatbelts preventing the boys from being projected out of their seats. When Flavio opened his eyes, his father's head was slammed against the wheel, a mess of blood and chunks of skin where the top of his balding head was supposed to be. His mother was still alive, if only weakly, a sickly wound on her temple, exposing some of the insides of her head. She managed to look over wearily at her sons.

"Flavio..." she rasped, trembling dangerously. "Luci...ano. Flavi...o. Why...?"

"I'm sorry, mama..." cooed Flavio, slamming the head of his little brother against the back of the seat hard when he began to stir, making sure he didn't wake up. "I love you. I do..."

He picked up a piece of broken window glass, undoing his seatbelt and crawling toward his mama, raising the shard above his head, ready to strike. The smile on his face, the last thing his dying mother saw, was full of sickening adoration.

"But I love Santi _more_."

Seeing the pathetic sobbing of his mother as the glass embedded into her neck did nothing for Flavio. The sound of police sirens in the distance didn't faze him at all.

He only felt a longing to see his best friend again, now that they wouldn't be separated.

He relaxed in his seat as police sirens rang in the distance. Finally he would get what he wanted.

* * *

The funeral was boring. Flavio managed to cry an awful lot, which was harder than it looked. It wasn't as if he didn't feel bad about the death of his parents, but he wanted to hurry this up and be with Santiago. Maybe he'd mourn properly later in bed.

He nearly dashed to the other's house, tackling him to the ground once he opened the door, hugging him as tight as humanely possible. It was close. He almost lost the most important person in his life. The _only_ important person.

They went back to Flavio's house, taking their usual spot on his bed, arms looped around each other. Santiago was so sweet about his parents' demise. What a darling companion he had. Santiago might have denied his gentle nature, but it was oh so clear.

"I was so scared when I heard...for a second, I thought you died too," confided the Spaniard, kissing his friend's forehead. "But I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too. Santi...what would you have done if I did die?" Flavio asked, tilting his head. "Would you get over me? Would you find someone else to be your best friend?"

"No...I'd kill myself. Remember when we became blood brothers? We promised we'd die together. So I'd die too. Then you wouldn't be alone."

Flavio grinned, kissing his cheek. "How'd you do it? I wanna know!"

"Well...I don't know. Maybe hang myself? That'd be easy. Taking a lot of pills seems like it'd hurt. Or I'd walk out into traffic and let a car hit me. That way we'd sorta die the same way. Jump off a building or a bridge...shoot myself in the head..." It should have been strange talking so casually about this, but the two weren't fazed by death anymore. Their lives revolved around each other, with everyone else just being extras.

"Yeah? Those all sound really good...how should we die? When we're old and stuff?"

"Poison."

"Poison?"

"Yeah. We'll eat the nicest dinner, but everything will have cyanide or arsenic or something. Then we lay and cuddle in bed and let it take us..." Santiago nodded solemnly. "I've been thinking about it a lot. It wouldn't be painless, but we're used to pain."

The Italian couldn't agree more with that sentence. "Yay! Is it weird to be excited for it?" Flavio giggled, nuzzling his buddy's neck. "I know we have to wait but...it'll be fun. We get to see what's on the other side together!"

"Yeah. And we won't ever be torn apart."

Flavio pressed their foreheads together, parting his lips and blowing air into his friend's mouth. A fun thing they learned to do. Sharing each other's breath. It gave them both shivers and made everything so tingly and nice.

"Santi..." Inhale. Exhale. "I wish I could eat you, y'know?" Inhale. Exhale. "Because then...I'd keep you with me. Your soul would be inside of me." Inhale. Exhale. "Forever."

"Yeah." Inhale. Exhale. "Forever. I love you." Inhale. Exhale. "I would do anything for you." Inhale. Exhale.

"So would I. I'd _kill_ for you, Santiago."

Inhale.

Exhale.

* * *

 **Flavio you adorably fucked up murderer**


End file.
